INTO TEMPTATION

I’m lying on my bed, with the light out, staring at the darkness of the ceiling, just as I used to do during my teenage years. I’m staring at an imaginary spot, hoping somehow my life could collapse into that spot, like a black hole.

As I lie here I can hear his voice. It’s drifting up the stairs from the lounge room. It sounds warm – it sounds like home. He’s a colleague of my Dad’s; he does the legal work in my Dad’s real estate business. He’s quiet, calm; life seems easy for him. When I first met him he smiled at me for such a long time. He’s tall, thin, moves in a sort of willowy way. I love to watch him. And he’s a 'he'.

So am I.

I moved back into my father’s house a year ago, after Victoria left me. She moved out of Melbourne and up to Queensland, to make a new start. I moved here – to find my place in the world again. Dad and I hadn't seen much of each other since he and mum divorced, and that was just after I’d left school. He had been busy trying to find his place in the world again. Now he was eager to take me in, to help me, to be a dad once more.

His name is Anthony, the owner of the voice I hear. We’ve chatted a lot of times; he sitting with his long, lean legs stretched out, ankles crossed, asking me about my work, and my life. I’ve hedged around the subject of my life. He’d smile, softly, watching – then diplomatically leave the topic, and return to discussing my work. He has worked around a few legal offices. We social workers are often skeptical of cynical lawyers, but he had worked for a legal aid office, and he’s seen poor people struggle against the constraints of a society made by the rich. He laughed when I described it like that, but nodded when I told him of my work with kids left out on the streets and ignored by the comfortable people in their expensive homes. He knew someone like that once, he said, and his eyes lost focus for a moment and looked at something only he could see, his long fingers tapping idly on the arm of the chair. I watched the veins in his hand flex rhythmically with the movement of his hand, then his eyes came back into focus, and he caught me watching him. I coughed and looked away.

I’ve enjoyed his company, his friendship. I’ve longed for it, chased after it. Dad often brings work home and Anthony sometimes comes along and helps. I wait until their work is over, then join them in conversation over coffee. We’ve shared gardening tips, anecdotes of old university days, holiday ideas, political gripes, football news, movies worth watching or not watching, books, philosophy…

But after he goes home I lie in bed worrying, tossing and turning and wandering how I can stop this, stop these feelings I have for him, stop this emotional bond from turning into something physical. I’ve been so embarrassed, and ashamed. And I’ve been quite certain he has no idea, to him I am just a friend.

Victoria left me because she claimed she still loved me, but that I didn’t love her. I desperately wanted her to stay. But when it’s late at night, reluctantly I must admit that my desire for her in bed had gone. For the first few months it was there. We were on fire for each other, and I couldn’t wait to move in with her and spend our lives together. This was it, I thought. She was slender, fine boned, she was mad on sport and worked out constantly. She was taunt and tight. I loved running my hands along her legs with their tight muscles underneath.

But I lost it, the desire. The yearning for her was just a memory. Yet, I didn’t want to let go. We were still friends; we could have still had a relationship. Surely, the sex dies in every long-term relationship – doesn’t it?

I’ve always been popular with girls. I never had any problems getting to know them, or getting them to like me. Not like a lot of guys. I can remember well, at school, how awkward and stupid a lot of guys became when around girls. But I always found them easy to talk to, and so they always easily talked to me. From talking to going out, to going to bed, are easy steps.

I’ve simply never found the right girl for me. That’s all. I thought Victoria was, but she wasn’t. I’ll find her one day.

But I’ll be 30 in a month’s time, that makes me panic. So many others have found their perfect girl, got married, had children.

I can still hear Anthony’s voice. Tonight it’s driving me mad. He asked Dad where I was. I haven’t gone down to talk to him; I’ve stayed up here all evening. Dad just gave a muffled, “dunno, he’s in his room … said he felt unwell.” I heard no more from Anthony. That’s worse; that makes me feel even more on edge.

Every night after he’s gone, I remember, all those years ago, on the beach, when I had followed the two surfers to the small isolated cove. I was just a kid, about 12, and I was curious to see where these two were going with their surfboards. They found the small cove hidden behind some bluffs that I didn’t know even existed. I’d lived by the coastline and thought I knew every part of it. After they’d reached the cove, I sat up hidden in the sand dunes and watched them as they headed for the water. I wondered if the beach here was safe for swimming. As the two guys, both about 18, reached the shoreline, they put down their surfboards, and stripped off their bathers. They were wearing nothing. I gaped, wide eyed. They laughed, picked up their surfboards and continued on into the surf. Just as they were about to hit the water, one of them turned around to me grinning, and winked. Then he ran in after his mate.

I’d jumped up and scurried home. It was a long walk, but I did the best I could to completely blot from my mind what was happening inside my pants, and how hard I was.

That was when mum and dad’s marriage was falling apart. They barely spoke to each other for another five years, until they finally divorced. But by then I had learnt how easy it was to talk to girls, and I desperately wanted to find a girl and ultimately marry and have a swag of kids.

I have trained my mind pretty well, and during the day can keep things under control, but at night, in the dark, all the gremlins come out and play with my thoughts, and my body.

Anthony began talking again. Can I detect a note of disappointment in his voice? Yes, I can. But he’s doing his best to hide it from Dad. He’s laughing and trying to pretend he is his usual, carefree self. Is Dad fooled? Dad replied with an offhand comment; I think he is, he is just a work friend as far as Dad is concerned.

Last week after Anthony was here; I walked with him to his car as he was leaving. I kept chatting, unable to let him go. His car was parked away from the streetlight, deep in shadows. It’s a blue BMW, very impressive. I played my role well and admired his car, hoping he would offer a ride in it – trying desperately to stop myself from lingering, from wanting to be near him, but failing miserably. He grinned, enjoying the praise, but he also gave me a quizzical look. He asked if one day I’d like a spin in it. Oh yes. It had worked. “Now?” I asked.
He shook his head, “too late,” but his smile was wide and inviting. He held his hand out to mine to shake. We shook, saying goodbye. But he held my hand a little too long. I looked up in surprise. He placed his other hand on mine and gave it a slight caress. I blushed, but I ventured a tentative smile. He smiled back. We had communicated; we had told each other. “Next week then?” he asked softly. I nodded, my heart pounding. Then he gently let my hand go, and left.

Now it is next week, but I’m frightened. Or I’m being disciplined. I can’t tell which. I have spent seventeen years chasing girls; I can’t destroy that now. All I need to do is find the right girl.

I start breathing slowly, trying to control myself. I concentrate on an image in my mind, a tree waving in the spring breeze, gentle and slow.

I can hear the lounge room door open, the voices grow louder. “Sorry that Jacob didn’t show up,” Dad said.

“Hope he’s okay?”

“Sure he will be, didn’t seem too bad, just stressed from work, he always is, it’s a hard job, his job…social work.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, see you at work.”

“Yes. Say hello to him…if he’s interested.”

If I’m interested? The sadness in Anthony’s voice reaches out to me. Now even Dad could recognize it.

“Sorry, Anthony,” Dad said, perplexed by Anthony’s rueful manner.

Breathe slowly – look at the tree.

“Oh, that’s… well, that's what happens... Goodbye then.”

And the front door opens and closes, then I hear Dad’s footsteps retreat into the lounge room.

Silence. He is gone.

Gone. I’ll find the perfect girl to spend my life with.

I jump up – my mind is no longer capable of stopping the need in my body. I run out of the room, down the stairs and out the front door. I just hear Dad’s voice call out a query to me before the closing of the front door cuts it off.

“Anthony!” I called out, frightened he has left; but his car is in its usual spot, in the shadows, and a long thin dark figure stands next to it…him.

I run up to him, “Anthony”. I stop in front of him. He stares at me.

“I thought you were ill?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

“Oh no – only, tired. I fell asleep, and woke up just as you were leaving.”

He continues gazing at me, apprehensively. Is he not sure whether to trust me again?

I smile weakly, “maybe, we could… go for that ride, in your car…”

I can hear the distant sound of traffic droning in the darkness, as I wait, looking into the reflected streetlight in his eyes.

Slowly he smiles, and takes my hand.